


But I Know How To Get It

by Sapphy



Series: Tumblr Fics [6]
Category: Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV), DCU (Comics), Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Burnplay, Canon Bisexual Character, Cigarettes, Cock & Ball Torture, Coming Untouched, Committed Relationship, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, John Constantine Kissing Dudes 2K14, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Multi, New 52, POV First Person, Painplay, Past Child Abuse, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2734559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/Sapphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John woke up with a craving, and Nick's more than happy to indulge him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>The first in a new series of fics based on my own headcanons for the flavours of BDSM my favourite characters are into to</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Know How To Get It

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a New 52 verse fic, but with elements of Hellblazer and even the TV show all thrown in. I like to mix and match my canons when it comes to comics, especially DC.
> 
> This is my first time ever writing any of these characters, so I apologise if the come out massively OOC.
> 
> Zee gets kinda sidelined in this fic, but I promise it's not out any hate, I love Zee, I just don't get any particularly kinky vibes from her.
> 
> This fic is inspired by a scene in Constantine #12 when Nick has John at his mercy and instead of getting on with taking over the world, spends all his time stubbing out cigarettes on John's chest and monologuing about their and Zee's relationship. The title, obviously, is from Anarchy in the UK by the Sex Pistols.
> 
> And last thing, warnings. Obviously this is a burnplay fic, and there's mention of John's less than stellar childhood and how completely he's failed to come to terms with it.

Zatana is sprawled out on the sofa, Nick’s trench coat wrapped round her like a blanket, dead to the world after an evening of wild debauchery and wilder magic. I don’t mind. She wouldn’t want to be here for this anyway.

The thing is, for an actual magical Goth princess, she’s surprisingly vanilla. Not that she’s not great in bed, she is. The sight of her riding me or Nick is a thing of beauty, as is the look on her face when we’re both inside her (hey, I never said she wasn’t kinky, just that she’s less kinky than I’d been expecting when I first met her). But she has a few hard limits, and one of them is pain of any kind. It just doesn’t do it for her. She doesn’t even use her teeth when she’s giving hickeys.

Now me, I like a bit of pain. Love it, in fact. There’s just something about it that gets me going. Probably says bad things about my mental health, but Nick isn’t complaining, and Zee doesn’t mind so long as she doesn’t have to watch, so I don’t do too much soul searching.

Nick’s all about the control, which has never been my cup of tea, but what can I say? When it comes to these two, I’m easy. So I put up with him bossing me around, even let him tie me up, and in exchange he beats seven kinds of shit out of me and stubs out fags on my chest.

(I’ll pretty open to any kind of pain, in the right circumstance, but there’s something about the fags, something about the guilt and shame and humiliation that’s all tangled up with the way the cherries feel searing into my skin that gets me standing to attention and ready to go in about half a second flat).

I oughta be covered in scars by now, hell, half my nerves probably oughta be dead, but they always heal me up after, either Nicky or Zee, depending on who’s closer to conscious and sober. So every fag feels like the first, every one touches virgin skin, and fucking Christ it feels good and it hurts so fucking much. I’m hard already, just thinking about it, and when Nick wanders in, fag balanced between his lips and a cocky smile on his lips, I seriously consider begging. Kinky bastard would fucking love it, but I’ve still got some self-respect. I don’t need to say anything anyway, he knows the look in my eye, knows why I’ve been standing too close, why I wanted him to fuck me earlier even though Zee had all her best toys out. Some days you just wake up with a craving, and today is one of them.

“You let me tie you up,” he says, in that ridiculous New York drawl of his, “and I’ll use a whole packet.”

“Fuck, Nick, you do that and I’ll wear one of Zee’s corsets and call you sir.” His eyes darken in a way that suggests maybe that hadn’t come out sounding like as much of a joke as I’d meant it, and I file that away for future consideration. His birthday maybe, or our anniversary. (I’ve never bothered remembering anniversaries before, but with these two, it’s different. This isn’t just an attempt to get my dick wet, this is the real thing, souls knotted together so tight even death wouldn’t separate us, and for the first time I get why people worry about remembering trivial shit like that day you met, or your first kiss. (For the record, Nick kissed me first, hard and unexpected, while Zee stood by and watched us, wearing this irritating little smile like she’d known all along where the three of us were headed and had just been waiting for us thick boys to catch up)).

“You like that shirt?” he asks, giving it a look of unwarranted distaste. Mucus Membrane weren’t good, but we weren’t that bad, and the shirt is the comfiest one I own, worn in after years of gigging and tours.

I know what he’s thinking and I shake my head, tugging my clothes off as fast as I can before he decides he’s sick of waiting and just burns them off me. It’s a favourite trick of his, always caused a stir with his one night stands I’ve no doubt, but he’d learnt not to do it with Zee, not after what she did to him last time (her magical cock ring may be the most brilliantly evil bit of magic I’ve ever seen), but he still reckons I’m fair game. I’ve lost count of how many pairs of jeans I’ve lost that way.

I manage to get down to my boxers before he loses patience entirely, twitching his fingers to send magical fire to burn them away. It doesn’t hurt, just tickles a little, but it’s unnecessary and a waste of clothes, and if I weren’t so on edge I’d probably yell at him for it. As it is I just brush away some ash from my pubes (one of the many reasons I fucking hate that spell) and straighten up, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

The ropes are conjured from pure magic (because Nick’s never been one to use a mundane solution when a complicated and costly magical one will do) and fasten my wrists together, tugging them up over my head. More ropes wrap around my ankles, then they all begin to move, spreading my legs and pulling me up so I’m balancing on my toes, only Nick’s power keeping me up.

It’s not a position that would normally do much for me. If Zee tied me up like this, I’d probably go soft. But I know what Nick’s planning, what’s coming, so the confinement just makes me harder, makes me groan with desire (which makes Nick grin, dark and twisted as any demon).

He plucks the fag from his mouth, breathes a cloud of smoke into my face, and presses the burning tip into my chest, just above my right nipple.

I don’t scream, I don’t want to wake Zee, still sleeping like a baby not three feet away, but it’s a fucking near thing. It’s not even the pain that makes me want to yell (though it hurts like fuck, make no mistake) it’s the relief, sheer bloody relief at finally getting what I’ve been craving like an addict all day.

The endorphin rush makes me sag in my bonds, totally reliant on Nick’s power to hold me, and I just know the smug git will be grinning, because he fucking loves controlling me like that. (Honestly, I think he worries me and Zee are going to chuck him and go off together, or that I’ll get a better offer and leave both of them, and getting all creepy and controlling is his way of reassuring himself that, for the time being at least, we’re not going anywhere). I hear the crackle of fire and smell smoke as he lights another and I hang there, shivering slightly with the anticipation, trying to work out where this one will go, which bit of me’s going to be lit up next. The little round burn on my chest throbs, keeping time with my heart, counting down until the next on, and this is part of it too, the inevitable delay between the bright spots of pain, plenty of time to build anticipation, until I’m nearly ready to beg in between every one.

The next one I see coming, have time to tense, to fear, and then it presses into the meat of my thigh, smelling of burning hair and hurting so fucking good. My cock’s rock hard by now, begging to be touched, but if I ask I know what Nick will offer, the only thing he’ll offer, and while the idea makes me shiver I’m not quite fucked up enough to want it in reality. Even I’ve got some limits, even if they are fucking miles away from anyone else’s.

I wonder for the first time how big the packet is, whether he bought them specially or if they’re mine. Nick smokes roll-ups, but I’ve never had the patience for them unless I can’t get anything else. I buy my fags in boxes of ten, a fucking stupid number if you ask me, but that’s the only size I can get of Silk Cut in this godforsaken country. I’ll smoke most things, but Silk Cut tastes like home, like grey clouds and drizzle and walking home from school smoking the one precious fag I’d managed to glom of one of the older boys.

They’re probably mine, I haven’t heard Nick go out and it wouldn’t be like him to spend money on me like that, which means there’s eight to go, assuming it was a full packet. I spend some time trying to work out where he’s gonna put them, envision the scars I’m gonna be left with. None on my lower legs, even if the idea of one on the sole of my foot makes my cock twitch. That would mean Nick crouching down, and he likes being in the dominant position too much. None on my arms, because this whole thing skirts the line between sexy-humiliating and full on flashback triggering humiliating, and fags to the arms fall firmly into the latter category. Probably at least one right over a nipple, my nipples are sensitive as a girl’s (more sensitive than Zee’s in fact) and Nick, who doesn’t seem to have any more sensation there than the rest of his chest, is fascinated by it. The little hollow at the bottom of my throat, where my collar bones meet, is another favourite spot, a blatant declaration of control on Nick’s part and deliciously sensitive.

I’ve distracted myself, so I don’t see the next one coming, my brain taking a moment to even register the unexpected pain. It’s my shoulder this time, near my armpit, not on my arm but close enough to trigger a brief flash of memory, the way dad used to laugh, this horrible hiccoughing drunkards laugh, when he did this, and Christ I’m so fucking fucked up, and I’m still hard and at that moment I hate myself for it.

Nick must know he’s fucked up, because the next one comes almost straight away, almost too quick, and it’s not as hot as I’d like, but it’s right smack on my left nipple, agonisingly painful and exactly what I need to get my head back in the present day, remind me that I want this.

I groan Nick’s name, and he grins at me, his eyes full of worried affection.

“You okay John? We can stop any time. I won’t even call you a pussy.”

I laugh at his crude attempt at a joke and shake my head. “Just got stuck somewhere else in my brain for a minute. I’m okay now.”

“You’re so fucked up, Johnny boy. So completely fucking fucked up. I want to carve my name into your chest and let it scar, and I think you’re fucked up.”

I ignore the insult, I’m fully aware that I’m not right in the head thanks, but I consider the other thing he said, try to imagine what the pain from him carving words into me would actually feel like, and decide it could work.

“You can, if you like. Not sure about the scarring, but you can write your name on me.”

“Fuck, John!” His eyes are wide and disbelieving, the next precious fag nearly falling out of his slack mouth. “You… Really?”

“When have I ever said no to you carving me up? But not now. You’ve got six more fags in that packet by my count, and you promised me all of them.”

“So fucking fucked up,” he says, but it sounds fond this time. “Where do you want this one?”

“Belly,” I say, trying to keep my stomach muscles from tensing up at the very idea.

I’ve got this little mole just under my belly button, and for some reason both Nick and Zee think it’s adorable. I’ve got no strong feelings on it one way or the other, but the look of delight on Nick’s face when he stubs the fag out on it makes me glad it’s there.

My legs are starting to ache from the weird position, muscles tensing in ways they’re not used to, and having my legs spread wide like that makes me think of getting fucked, makes me wish I’d raided Zee’s stash of toys before we started this. I like getting fucked now and then, who doesn’t, but it’s not my favourite thing in the bedroom. But when me and Nick do this, having a toy up my arse, rubbing against my sweet spot every time the pain makes me clench, well, that is a thing of fucking beauty and a joy forever.

As though reading my mind, Nick comes close, grabs a handful of my arse and squeezes and then slides a finger into my crack, rubbing against my hole. It still feels stretched open from when he fucked me earlier, but I know that’s not true, and his finger catches on my rim rather than going in.

He offers me the finger to suck, and I turn my head away, because I might be a dirty bastard but even I’ve got some standards and it doesn’t matter how clean I know I am, arse to mouth is not hygienic.

“Suck,” he says, voice light and teasing like it only is when he’s deadly serious, “or I put the next one out on your balls.”

I still, unable to work out if that’s a reward or a punishment, but my cock, always quicker to make up its mind than me, jumps, smearing precome over Nick’s black tee-shirt.

He grins, leans close so that I’m breathing in his smoke with every breath, and says, “Do it, or I won’t.”

I still can’t work out if I want it, or if it’s one of those ‘sexy on paper, stiffy-killingly painful in reality’ things, when he cups a hand around the back of my neck and pressed his lit fag into the skin of my nape, agonisingly slow and completely blissful. I can’t help the gasp and the minute my mouth opens, Nick pushes two fingers inside, rubs them against the pad of my tongue and chuckles quietly. “Such a slut Johnny boy.”

I mean to say something sarcastic, maybe something about the colour of kitchen implements or people who live in houses with too many windows, but my brain’s pretty much fried at this point, all the blood needed to operate it redirected to my cock, so what actually comes out, slightly garbled because of his fingers, is “only for you two.”

It’s embarrassing as fuck (and also untrue, I’ve always like sex, this is just the first time I’ve been exclusive about it for more than a few days) but Nick likes it, possessive bastard, removing his fingers and pulling me in close for a kiss that tastes of ash and the bourbon we’d been drinking earlier. (Fucking pigswill stuff, but Nick and Zee are Yanks and don’t know any better, think it’s real whiskey and just laugh when I try and tell them otherwise). His hand, fingers slick with saliva, slides down to my arse and he pushes a finger inside me, pressing unerringly against my prostate, shocking as any burn.

“Four more,” Nick says, fumbling a cigarette out of his front pocket one handed, putting it in his mouth and lighting it with a click of his fingers. “You serious about one of these to the balls? Because even with healing magic, that’s gonna hurt like a fucking bitch.”

He crooks his finger inside me, makes my inside feel like they’re dissolving, and I groan out “last one, just the last one” before I can think better of it.

“Kinky fuck. Want one to the cock as well?” He always offers, but even I’m not fucked in the head enough to accept.

“Thigh next,” I tell him, and try not to whimper like a kicked dog when the pad of his index finger drags rough and unforgiving against my sweet spot. “Then hipbone, then neck, right up by my jaw. Then my bollocks.” My cock is dripping at the idea of it, precome dripping onto my balls and smearing over my stomach.

On the couch Zantana snores and rolls over. It should be a mood killer, but instead it’s a reminder that this isn’t just some in-the-closet twat I picked up in a bar because he looked just homophobic enough to be fun. This is Nick, my master (the technical term for a magic teacher, and you can just imagine how much Nick loves that) and my lover, in our flat, with our Goth princess asleep and snoring on our couch, the one it took us three days and two levitation spells to get up the stairs. That reminder, that I’m free to concentrate on the pain, don’t have to worry about anything else, makes me relax, sagging forward in my bonds.

Nick turns to look at her, smiling sweet and fond the way he only does for her, and says “You ever wish she’d do this to you?”

“Finger me? Not with those nails,” I says, and half laugh half groan when he responds by dragging the calloused tip of his finger across my sweet spot, pleasure so intense it’s far more painful than the burns still throbbing in time with my heartbeat. “It’d be pretty fucking hot, if she were into this shit, but I don’t mind. It’s nice to have something that’s just ours.” I shouldn’t have said that, I’m completely wrecking my hard-man image.

Nick smiles, his eyes lit with possessive fire and says, “Sweet boy. Tomorrow I’m going to carve my name into your chest and then rub lemon juice into the cuts.”

I try to laugh, because he calls _me_ fucked up, but then there’s the sharp stinging pain of a burn, high up my thigh, right into the crease where my leg joins my pelvis. It’s unexpected, so sudden I tear up, biting my lip agonisingly hard to keep in the scream trying to push its way out. God, I want to come so bad, pain and pleasure and the inexorably push of a second finger inside me driving me right to the edge, leaving me hovering on the precipice.

“More, you possessive fucking bastard. Don’t string it out, fuck.”

Nick steps in closer, presses against me so I can feel his hard cock against my hip, but angled so that I can’t rub up against him and get some relief. He’s fucking me with his fingers now, fast and rough and so fucking good. With his free hand he makes the gestures of a simple levitation spell and two cigarettes float up to his mouth. He lights them with magic and takes a drag.

“You need to keep quiet for these,” he says. “Don’t wanna wake Zee. Can you do it, or do you want something to suck on?”

Dirty bastard. I open my mouth, feel two fingers push in, mirroring the ones in my arse. Nick’s always had a knack for levitation, so it’s no surprise when he floats one of the cigarettes down to press into my hipbone. This one doesn’t let up though, stays pressed into my flesh sizzling and burning and hurting so fucking good I can’t think, while the second finds my throat, presses in under my jaw right, over my jugular. I can feel the tears rolling down my face from between my closed eyelids and I never want it to stop, want the pain to go on building and building until I come.

It doesn’t last though, this is a fleeting kind of pain and when the fags drop to the floor the burning has dulled to the same delicious ache as the others.

“Just one more, and this one’s going to hurt. You ready?”

I suck on his fingers as answer, desperate for the last one.

The wait while he lights it, while it gets hot enough, is nearly unbearable. I’m sweating, the salt stinging the nine tiny wounds, making me jump and clench around his fingers inside me and I wasn’t sure before about this, but now I can’t think of anything I want more.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, takes hold of the fag and makes sure I can see it, makes sure I’m watching as he pushes it into my balls.

It’s agonising, worse than I’d ever imagined but better too, so fucking intense that I can’t hold back a yell, a noise of pure release, and then I’m coming, hard and blissful, my whole body shaking in the restraints with the force of it, pain and pleasure and sheer bloody sensation whiting out my mind with the intensity of it.

When I come too Zee’s sitting up, grinning at us. She stands up, coming over to press a quick kiss to Nick’s lips and scrape a long black painted nail over the red wound under my jaw, making me moan with over-sensitivity. Her sharp eyes take in where Nick’s arm curves behind me, his fingers rubbing gently at my rim. “I see you’ve got him all warmed up for me. I’ll go get my toys.”

I can’t help the smile, even though that had been my third orgasm of the day and I’m pretty sure another would kill me. “You two will be the death of me,” I tell them.

Nick grins his devil’s grin and kisses me. “But what a way to go, Johnny boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please please leave a comment if you make it to the end of this, even if it's to let me know you hated it. Posting in new fandoms is always really nervewracking, especially when it's such a small one.
> 
> Why not drop by and visit me at [tumblr](http://sapphywatchesyousleep.tumblr.com/).


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